


Table talk

by hauntedpoem



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 7daughters, Coversations, Family Dinner, Gen, daughters of feanor - Freeform, thoughts & musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: In the seclusion of Formenos, Feanaro has dinner with his daughters.





	Table talk

**Author's Note:**

> Another snippet from my "Feanor & daughters" headcanon.

They were eating dinner in companionable silence at the oval table, the one that Tyelko and Ambarussa helped him carve. It was obvious that Nelyo was despondent and Kano was more interested in reading her music sheet than eating.

He looked at Nelyo’s tunic, too short at the sleeves and promised himself he would buy new fabrics for her clothes. His eyes darted shrewdly to where Moryo was eating her soup as if she were at the king’s table under the scrutiny of the Nolofinwions. He surreptitiously examined her high-collared white dress embroidered with sunflowers and then his eyes darted to Tyelko who was wearing a pair of her father’s old breeches and a leather vest. If he squinted, he could see a nipple. Ambarussa were probably dressed in pillow cases with holes for arms and legs.

Curvo, for a change, was wearing a skin-fitting corset and the tightest breeches he’d ever seen – if you counted out Findekano.

Again, Kano was wearing her bed sheets tied around her shoulders. Feanaro had to say that she looked like she could embrace Telerin fashion. He could clearly see her hair dipping in the cold vegetable soup. She kept munching on a slice of bread, making crumbs everywhere and wiping them from her music sheets with the back of her hand.

Ambarussa were feeding each other a mix of boiled eggs, toast, soup and venison. Pityafinwe’s chin was a canvas for dribbling yolk and barbeque sauce. Nelyo was eating another serving of venison, most probably Kano’s share.  She looked a bit depressed.

Tyelko used her hunting knives to slice through the meat and was chewing loudly, from time to time throwing bits and pieces to Huan who was lying at her feet, whining for more meat, salivating on the floor. Feanaro made a mental note to keep the dog out of the house for the rest of the summer. It started to smell and the beast was also shedding.

Curvo, at his right, was eating exceedingly slowly, scrunching her nose every mouthful or so and downing glass after glass of wine.

Moryo was impossible. He should send her to Tirion. She could beat Indis to high manners.

“So… girls… Any news?” He asked the perfunctory dinner question. Kano batted the air around her ears as if to disperse the sound that was clashing with the music in her head and Nelyo stopped her tenuous eating, glad for the conversation.

“If by news you mean news of mother… then it’s the same as yesterday,” mumbled Tyelko.

Moryo had been chewing for a long while. Feanaro could swear she was masticating every flimsy bite of venison at least 100 times. Telufinwe just regurgitated half her chewed food and was now making a mole hill on the table. He should really bring them some clay to play with, he thought. Kano was batting her leg on the table foot. Her hair looked like noodles in the bowl of soup. He hoped she would at least wash it before leaving the house.

 Feanaro drank his wine slowly. He should probably start a drinking competition with Curvo.

Curvo tried to mask a burp but didn’t quite succeed. “Yesterday’s meal. Just awful.”

Kano was batting her hand again and unwittingly throwing droplets of soup all over the table. Moryo just leant on her back until her sister stopped her hand movements. She was still chewing and giving him an impassive look. At last, she swallowed. And cleared her throat as if to make an announcement.

“Father, do you wish to see my needlepoint?” Moryo asked out of the blue.

“Erm… yes. What is it this time?” If it was yet another portrait of the Nolofinwions, he was going to have a fit. Moryo seemed to have developed a fancy for Nolo’s youngest, Arakano.

“Here,” she said and dreamily handed him the already framed portrait of a golden-haired man.

“This is very nice,” he said. Indeed. He was silently glad to notice it was not Arakano. “Who is this handsome fellow?”

“It’s our cousin, Angaráto.” Curvo made a distasteful noise, yet again. If he could, Feanaro would have praised her for the loudness.

“So… now it’s Arafinwe’s brood…”

Moryo looked at him as if she didn’t quite understand then said in that enigmatic voice of hers. “That’s a commissioned work, father.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“For a maiden who wants to marry our cousin.”

That was something. Well… good riddance, Arafinwe’s brood.

“Well, then, Nelyo… what does cousin Findekano say?” At least he knew his eldest’s favourite subject. It was either philosophical talks or the cousin.

Nelyo looked depressed into her plate. She sighed.

“He cannot come here to visit this week.” He could tell his eldest looked despondent. “He’s to train his youngest brother for the annual archery contest.”

“Well… at least that’s something productive. Perhaps it will teach Arakano to finally hit the target eh?”

“Atar,” Nelyo tried to shut him up. “Arakano is quite decent with a bow. It’s the swordsmanship that gives him trouble.”

Feanaro thought that was even worse. Moryo looked out of the window. Next to him, Curvo pushed back her chair. Loudly. “Excuse me, but all this talking exhausts me.”

The table fell silent.

Ambarussa have finished eating and they were now licking their plates. It made him wince but he had to give it to them, he used to do that very thing in his childhood until his father yelled at him. Why traumatise them just for the sake of manners. Moryo had enough for three.

 


End file.
